by Annie Lyons
Lizzie looked at his face. She was seeing a different side to him. She glimpsed a man worn down by another person’s actions. A good man possibly. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said and meant it.
‘So am I but luckily, I do have the best sister in the world. Obviously if you tell her I said that I will have to kill you.’
Lizzie was pleasantly surprised by his sudden easy humour. She laughed. ‘Thank goodness for sisters eh?’ Maybe she and Ben had more in common than she had suspected.
She would have liked to have talked more but they were interrupted by Brian. He arrived early, clutching a pot of olives which he placed on the table in front of him with an obvious reluctance to share. He declined Lizzie’s offer of wine and beer, opting instead for fizzy water. He eyed Ben with suspicion.
‘Ben, this is Brian. Brian, Ben. Brian is keen for us to read some Russian novels at some stage,’ said Lizzie. Brian glowed with pride.
‘Great,’ said Ben rather unconvincingly.
Susie was next to arrive, followed by a steady flow of cheerful bibliophiles, all clutching well-thumbed copies of the book. At half past seven on the dot, Brian turned to Lizzie and said, ‘We should start.’
Of the eight people who attended, seven of them had enjoyed the book. Unfortunately, Brian was not blessed with a sense of humour and he failed to appreciate the levity of Nigel Slater’s writing.
‘I just did not understand why it was funny,’ he kept saying.
Lizzie attempted patience. ‘But what about his descriptions of the food? Didn’t that make you feel nostalgic?’ she asked.
‘No. I thought he talked about food far too much,’ said Brian.
‘Well, he is a food writer,’ Lizzie pointed out.
‘Yes, but there’s no need to go on about it. And there were too many references to masturbation.’ Brian whispered the last word with a sharp inhalation of disgust.
Lizzie caught Susie’s eye and bit her lip to suppress a giggle. Susie distracted herself with a cheese straw.
‘Oh I liked the bits about sex,’ declared Carol with a lusty wink. ‘I thought it was very liberating.’ Brian gave her a glare before spiking an olive onto a cocktail stick.
Ben sat in silence, nursing his beer and jiggling his foot. ‘What did you think, Ben?’ asked Lizzie.
He looked up at her with surprise before clearing his throat. ‘Well,’ he began, ‘it actually inspired me to learn to cook so I’m slightly biased.’ He caught Lizzie’s eye and she smiled, which seemed to give him courage to elaborate. ‘I think it’s about so much more than food and I think what strikes me is how lonely he was after his mother died.’ Lizzie was caught off-guard. She immediately thought of Sam, of his fierce directness which made him seem so together, and of the fact that he had just lost his mother.
‘Oh yes, poor mite,’ agreed Carol. ‘It must have been terrible to lose your mother like that at such a young age.’
‘I suppose it made me glad that I’ve got such a supportive family,’ admitted Ben. Susie pulled a face but Ben ignored her. ‘I think that’s probably what people need more than anything else.’
Everyone apart from Brian murmured agreement. Lizzie stood up. ‘Sorry, everyone,’ she said. ‘I just need to make a quick phone call. You carry on.’ She ignored their surprised faces and rushed out into the street, wrestling with the keys to the bookshop. Once safely inside, Lizzie pulled out her phone and quickly found the number knowing that hesitation would only give her another reason not to call. She had no choice. She had to do this if only for Bea and Sam. A promise had been made and she wouldn’t let either of them down. Lizzie could hear her heart pounding as she dialled and held the phone to her ear. It rang twice, three times before someone answered.
‘Hello?’ The voice sounded frail, tired and not at all frightening.
‘It’s Lizzie’ said Lizzie. There was a silence on the other end of the line so Lizzie filled it with the words she knew Bea wanted her to say. ‘I need to come and see you.’
Chapter Seven
Late October
Lizzie parked the car around the corner from her mother’s house and switched off the engine. She lifted her hands from the steering wheel and realised that her hands were shaking. It was a similar feeling to the one she had experienced when she first read Bea’s request to come here. She was nervous but above all else she was angry. Any doubts or thoughts of not coming today had been banished by this anger. It flooded her being and filled her with determination. If truths had to be faced, she wouldn’t be the only one facing them. She hadn’t talked to Susie about this in the end. This was about Lizzie and her mother. It wasn’t even about Bea. Not really. It was about Stella Harris and the anger Lizzie felt for her, as sharp and bitter as poison. This anger frightened her a little. She had kept it suppressed for so many years but it gave her the courage she needed too.
As she climbed out of the car, she paused to look around. It was strange how familiar a place could be even after so long away, like slipping on a pair of forgotten shoes that you’d found in the back of the wardrobe. She could remember riding her bike along this road with Bea, their father following on a distance behind. It seemed incredible now that they were both gone. Sometimes life seemed like a long slow race where you all started off together until gradually people stopped running alongside you. They just petered out at the side of the road and it was up to you to keep going.
She glanced at her watch. She had told her mother eleven o’clock and it was nearing that now. Their conversation making the arrangements had been brief. Lizzie hadn’t wanted to go into any detail over the phone. At first, Stella had seemed reluctant but Lizzie had made it clear that she wasn’t about to take no for an answer. This seemed to surprise Stella and it was probably a combination of Lizzie’s determination and Stella’s fatigue that made her sigh, ‘Yes all right. If you want to.’
Lizzie ignored the implied sense that Stella wasn’t bothered if she came or not. ‘Okay. Let’s say next Tuesday at eleven then.’
‘I just need to check the calendar,’ said Stella. Tired she may have been but she was still exercising control over the situation. Lizzie could see that nothing had changed. There was a brief pause. ‘That will be fine,’ she said before hanging up.
That was it. No goodbye or further discussion. Lizzie had been overwhelmed with renewed fury and the anger had simmered within her like a slowly boiling pot ever since.
She walked swiftly around the corner and along the road before stopping by her mother’s front gate. She almost couldn’t believe she was about to do this, but her hurt, anger and a need for answers drove her on. Lizzie marched up to the front door and gave the knocker a confident tap. She waited. There was movement from within and the sound of someone walking briskly down the hall.
Stella snatched open the door and regarded her daughter with a blank, unimpressed expression. ‘You’re early.’
Ding, ding, round one, thought Lizzie. She wasn’t going to rise to the bait, to indulge in snarly digs. She had bigger fish, much bigger fish. ‘Can I come in?’ she said, keeping her voice as even as possible.
Stella stepped backwards to make way for her daughter. As Lizzie stepped over the threshold, she was immediately transported back in time. It caught her off-guard and she had to take a deep breath to calm herself.
She took in her surroundings, glancing towards the stairs where she and Bea had eavesdropped on the grown-ups’ conversations, always interesting particularly if Uncle Lawrence was staying. She spied the cupboard under the stairs where she had played sardines as a teenager and remembered the moment Alex found her and the way his kiss and exploring hands sent ripples of adolescent desire through her body. Looking towards the kitchen, she saw the same chair and table where she had tried and failed to understand maths, her father standing over her with barely masked irritation as she dreamed of doing anything rather than this. Her mother was standing by the sink now, looking back towards Lizzie, her hands on her hips, her face impatient and Lizzie realised that she h
ad spoken.
‘I said, do you want tea or coffee?’
‘Tea thanks,’ said Lizzie, walking down the corridor and entering the kitchen.
Her mother made their drinks without further comment and carried them over to the table. ‘Sit,’ she said as if Lizzie were a dog. Lizzie stayed where she was. She had thought about this moment a great deal over the past week and it was clear that her mother had too. They both had things to say: angry, unpleasant, poisonous things. The atmosphere was as toxic as burning plastic.
‘I said, sit,’ repeated Stella. Lizzie’s whole body was trembling with anger. It was clear that her mother thought that the past fifteen years hadn’t happened, that she could still control Lizzie. She was wrong. Lizzie regarded her mother with cold defiance and noticed a flicker of confusion pass over Stella’s face as she realised that her daughter wouldn’t comply with her wishes. They were like rival cats, circling one another, waiting for the first strike. Her mother jutted out her chin and regarded Lizzie with disdain. ‘Well if you’re not going to sit, at least talk. You must have something to say.’
From anyone else, this would be a perfectly reasonable remark but from Stella Harris, it was a loaded dare. Out with it but be warned, I’m ready for you.
‘I have plenty to say. The question is, are you ready to hear it?’ said Lizzie. She had thought about this moment, practised it in front of the mirror at least a dozen times since she had set up the visit. She knew how her mother could twist things, make Lizzie feel bad or guilty. She was determined that she wouldn’t be the one to experience these emotions today.
Stella rolled her eyes. ‘Oh heavens, you sound like one of those awful American TV shows, where some poor fool’s pain has to be heard so that everyone else can be blamed and they never have to take responsibility for their own lives.’
Lizzie bristled. ‘Is that how you see me then? Just some poor fool who can’t take responsibility for her life?’
Her mother raised her eyebrows ever so slightly. The gesture said, if the cap fits but her dismissive flick of the hand told her she was being silly. Lizzie remembered how her mother would often be like this; saying one thing but meaning another as if what she really thought didn’t match with what she knew she was supposed to say. ‘Don’t be ridiculous. You always did take everything to heart,’ she said dismissively.
‘What, like the time you told me that you wished you’d only had one daughter? Did I take that to heart?’ Lizzie knew this was the moment; the moment she had been working up to for fifteen years.
‘I was very angry,’ said Stella defiantly. ‘People say things they don’t mean when they’re angry.’
‘And I was very frightened and needed my mother to listen to me rather than shout and scream at me,’ replied Lizzie.
But Stella didn’t want to hear it. ‘I cannot help how I reacted. You were so difficult, so defiant. You never listened to me.’
‘I was seventeen years old! I was a teenager. Teenagers are supposed to behave like that.’
‘Bea never behaved like that.’ Stella put a hand to her mouth but it was too late.
Lizzie shook her head. ‘Some things never change, eh Mum?’ she said mockingly, uttering the word ‘Mum’ with bitter irony. Stella looked unsure of herself now but Lizzie wasn’t about to let her off the hook. ‘Do you remember that day?’ She didn’t wait for an answer. ‘You know, the day I came to you for help because I was pregnant?’
Stella gave her a pursed-lip stare. ‘Of course I do.’
‘And do you remember all the things you said?’
Stella shook her head. ‘I don’t see why –’
‘Because I do,’ snapped Lizzie. ‘I remember every single word. Shall I remind you?’ Stella stared at the ceiling but said nothing. ‘I’ll take that as a yes. You said that I was a stupid little girl and a filthy slut. You said that I was a disgrace to the Harris family and an embarrassment to you and Dad. You said that the shock would probably kill Grandpa. You said that you were ashamed to be my mother. You said that I had ruined not only my life, but the lives of everyone around me. Oh and you also said that you wished you hadn’t had me and that you’d just had Bea. Now have I forgotten anything?’ Lizzie tapped her lip as if trying to think of the solution to a crossword clue. ‘No, I think that’s about the size of it.’ She picked up her tea and took a sip. ‘Thanks for this by the way. Oh and I think you’ll find that anger actually makes people say exactly what they think as I have just illustrated. And for the record, I have hated you ever since that day. Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to use the bathroom. I presume it’s in the same place.’
She put her mug back on the table and turned towards the stairs, without looking at Stella. She fled to the bathroom and, shutting the door behind her, leant against it and closed her eyes for a second. She could hear her heart beating in her ears and a dull throb at her temple. She approached the mirror and looked at her reflection. She should have felt triumphant but instead she felt tired. It was as if something she had been hanging on to for a long time had been drained from her. She splashed cold water on her face before returning back downstairs.
Her mother was still sitting motionless in the chair. She was staring straight ahead and didn’t look up when Lizzie returned. This time Lizzie did sit down. She fiddled with the handle of her tea mug but didn’t look at her mother.
‘Do you really hate me?’ said Stella quietly. It was a question laced with hurt but also with recognition of a truth that had been buried for a long time.
Lizzie sighed. ‘I did. I’m not sure what I feel now.’ This was also true. It was as if the action of telling Stella how she had been feeling meant that she didn’t need to feel it any more, not with the same intensity anyway. ‘Granny always told us not to use that word. She always said, “You don’t hate something. You just don’t like it.”’
‘So you don’t like me then?’
Lizzie looked into her mother’s eyes. ‘I don’t know you. It’s been fifteen years. Can you grasp that? For fifteen years I’ve assumed that my own mother didn’t care about me.’
‘Bea always said you were all right,’ protested Stella.
‘So you just left it all to her. You didn’t even try to contact me. Not even after I lost the baby. Have you any idea how that made me feel?’
‘But Bea said you were all right,’ repeated Stella.
‘That’s not good enough,’ declared Lizzie. ‘Bea was my sister but you were my mother.’ Were my mother. The sentiment hung in the air like a judge issuing a guilty verdict.
Stella got up from her chair and walked over to the window. She looked out into the garden. The late autumn sunshine was making everything glow with colour. ‘I thought about you a great deal. I didn’t want things to be this way but I didn’t know how to change them. I was too angry. It’s been very hard over the last few years,’ she said.
This was typical of her mother. For a woman who expected everyone else to take responsibility for their own actions, she didn’t seem able to get a grasp on her own. ‘I felt abandoned,’ said Lizzie simply.
This seemed to incite something deep inside her mother. She turned round and glared at Lizzie, jabbing a finger as she spoke. ‘And how do you think I’ve felt? How do you think your father felt? You abandoned us. I watched your father get ill and die and where were you? Where were you?’ cried Stella indignantly.
‘And I’m sure you would have welcomed me with open arms if I’d popped back home wouldn’t you?’
‘I would have set aside my feelings for the sake of your father.’
Lizzie rolled her eyes. ‘Oh please. You wouldn’t have let me in the house.’
‘Not if you’d threatened to upset your father.’
‘Or embarrass you by being seen by any passing parishioners.’
‘That has nothing to do with it. You abandoned your father when he needed you most!’ cried Stella.
‘Well it was good that we both had Bea to rely on, wasn’t it?’ said Lizzie q
uietly. She had guessed that Stella would try to make her guilty by mentioning her father. It had worked of course, but she wasn’t going to let her mother see this.
Stella folded her arms. ‘Yes I suppose it was,’ she retorted.
They stared at one another for a moment and there was a flicker of recognition. It was as if they were seeing each other as strangers might; comprehending, however minutely, that they shared a similar pain.
‘So why now?’ asked Stella after a pause. ‘Is it because of Bea?’
Lizzie had been ready for this question. She didn’t want to tell her mother about the letters. Not yet. Lizzie nodded. ‘Her death has made me reassess my life.’
Stella seemed to understand this. ‘Life is short,’ she murmured.
They sat in silence for a while, each lost on a memory of the people they had loved and lost. Calm had descended. The anger had been dispersed. There was still an air of things unspoken but the atmosphere was less intense, less urgent somehow.
‘Will you stay for lunch?’ asked Stella after a time.
Lizzie looked at her mother. It was an olive branch of sorts and she knew she had to take it; for Bea, for Sam, but most of all, for herself. ‘Okay,’ she said and then after a pause. ‘Thank you.’
Over lunch, they talked about everything except the past. That subject was exhausted for now and Lizzie felt relieved. Baby steps, she told herself. The truth is out there now and there will be more to say in time.
Instead they talked about the present, like old acquaintances catching up after so many years. It felt strange to Lizzie but not unpleasant. She told her mother about her job at the bookshop and Stella seemed pleased.
‘You always did love books right from when you were tiny.’
It was as if they were circling each other, learning about their lives bit by bit, deciding if and how this renewed relationship might work.
After lunch, Stella asked if she wanted to visit Bea’s grave. It was Stella’s way of reaching out and Lizzie was glad to accept.